


In the wrong light

by yunhaiiro



Category: Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dom!Hank, Light BDSM, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23743441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunhaiiro/pseuds/yunhaiiro
Summary: ... anyone can look like a darkness.A dark(er) AU after Season 2 where NoHo Hank becomes the actual boss of the Chechen mafia and Barry ishishitman, who has completely abandoned any thought of redemption. And their relationship is even more fucked up (now with sexy results).
Relationships: Barry Berkman/NoHo Hank
Comments: 5
Kudos: 100





	In the wrong light

It’s so quiet, in the dead of night, that Barry can hear the leaky faucet of the shitty apartment before he even opens the door. 

He takes a step inside, then turns back around to jam the key into the lock, and spends a few second wrestling with it before it does its job and actually _locks_. The door is like half an inch thick, anyway, so it’s not like it will offer much resistance if someone comes trying to kick it down, but he feels better at the illusion of safety. 

He scratches his cheek, smearing the blood around, hood still obscuring his features. 

He turns around. 

“Hey, man. How did it go?” 

Barry feels like his heart just jumped out of his throat and ran away into the streets. He shuts his eyes for a fraction of a second. 

“Hank, what the _fuck_ are you doing here?” he says, whole face twitching. 

NoHo Hank is lounging on the (unmade) bed in the middle of the room, with his shoes on, in jeans and a very weather-inappropriate leather jacket. The only light illuminating the apartment is a small lamp on the bedside table at his right, leaving Barry almost completely in darkness. 

Hank raises his hands in a shrug, as if it’s obvious. 

“I wanted to check up on you, you know. Make sure you got it done.” 

“Well, I did,” Barry says, curtly. “So get the fuck out.” 

Hank gets up from the bed, way more slowly than necessary, and ambles up to where Barry is standing, rooted in place. Hank stops a step in front of him, hands on his hips, tilting his head as if to take a better look at him in the low light. 

“Is that your blood?” he asks, as one might ask about the weather. 

“No,” Barry answers, reflexively putting a hand up to his face. 

Hank raises his own hand to it and bats Barry’s hand away, rubbing a thumb over the blood streak. 

“Well that’s a pity.” 

Barry doesn’t say a word at that, just dry swallows. 

When he’s back from a hit he always has an adrenaline rush it takes him a while to come down from. His fight-or-flight response right at the surface, blood pumping so loudly in his head he can’t hear his thoughts for a while. 

He says he doesn’t enjoy it. 

He lies. 

And he knows exactly why Hank was waiting for him to be like this, too. 

Hank puts his other hand up to Barry’s face and lowers his hood completely. Barry is looking down at him, his eyes both saying “Don’t do this” and “Please _yes_ ”. 

Hank’s hands sneak around his nape and his fingers close around the hair there, still slick with sweat. Barry bends his head slightly without realizing. Hank gets closer to his ear. 

“You did good, then?” 

A low growl rises from Barry’s throat and he closes his eyes. 

“Yes,” he says, breath coming out heavier already. 

Hank lets him go and takes one step back. 

“Come and tell me,” he says, motioning with his head to the bed. 

Barry’s gaze darts between it and Hank himself and for a second it looks like he’ll refuse, tell Hank to get out again. 

But instead he ducks his head again, lower this time, and brushes against Hank as he makes his way to the side of the bed, where he sits right on the edge with his arms atop his legs, back straight as a pole. 

The pose gets a chuckle out of Hank, who walks over to Barry again and puts just the tips of his fingers on Barry’s shoulders, still enough to notice the tense muscles underneath. 

“So?” Hank says, smiling. 

Barry has to look up to him now, but he does so without raising his head, just from under his lashes. He licks his lips. 

“I was scoping out the house first, as usual.” 

“Hmm.” Hank’s fingers start to sink in his skin more and more as he talks. 

“Even after doing that, I didn’t find a vantage point from which I’d have a clear shot with the rifle…” 

“Really?” Hank asks, disbelieving. 

“I _looked_ ,” Barry says with more force than necessary. “There wasn’t any. At all.” 

Hank’s right hand shifts to settle in the crook of his neck. 

“I’m sure you made sure.” 

At Barry’s silence, Hank squeezes his shoulder and tells him to go on. 

“I had the pistol with the silencer, so I waited until it got dark, then stayed right outside his door until he got out…” 

“To do what?” 

“Throw out the garbage,” Barry answers, the slightest hint of humor in his voice. “But he must have been on alert already…” 

Hank lets out a “tch” that makes Barry stop in his tracks. 

“You think he saw you earlier?” Hank asks, tone not quite judgmental. 

“ _No_ ,” Barry answers, forcefully again. Nevertheless, his voice falters when he continues. “I don’t– I tried to…” 

Hank briefly puts his left hand on top of Barry’s head, not quite stroking his hair. 

“It’s okay. You’re good at what you do.” 

_I’m the best at what I do_ , screams the part of Barry he only feels right after he has killed someone. 

“So,” Hank continues in a conciliatory tone, moving the hand back down to his shoulder. “He got out of house. He sees you. Then what?” 

“He knocked the gun out of my hand somehow, then started running towards the back… I ran after him.” 

“And you caught him,” says Hank, matter-of-factly. 

“Yes.” 

There are a few seconds of silence. 

Hank voice drops just a bit. 

“How did you kill him?” 

Barry takes a breath then sighs. 

“I caught him on a choke hold… He thrashed around, but he wasn’t very strong…” 

Hank’s hands are snaking around Barry’s neck now and it gives him a second of pause. 

A head nod and a “go on”. 

“I didn’t know if I should just choke him…” Hank’s hands start applying just the slightest amount of pressure and Barry breathes through it. “Or break his neck and be done with it…” 

The pressure mounts, not yet tight enough to restrict his breath, but enough that he really _feels_ it. Now Barry’s tilting his head back to allow Hank’s hands more room, without realizing it. 

“And what did you do?” Hank smiles down at Barry. 

“I choked him until he stopped moving…” His voice is turning just the tiniest bit hoarse. He stares hard at Hank while he says the next words. “Then broke his neck anyway, just in case.” 

Hank’s smile turns into a smirk. 

“Very good,” he whispers at Barry, giving one final squeeze before letting go completely. 

Barry holds in his breath for a second before letting it go, head dropping back down. 

He stays there, breathing hard. 

“How did you get the blood then?” Hank asks after a while, pointing to his cheek. 

“He had a knife,” Barry answers. “When he came out. He came at me with it, but he just ended up cutting himself. Then he bled on me,” he finishes, mouth curling a bit in disgust. 

Hank puts a hand under Barry’s chin and tilts it upwards, scrutinizing his face with a serious expression. 

“And you’re sure he didn’t get you anywhere?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“You have bad track with knives.” 

Barry looks away. 

Hank lets his chin go. 

“Let me check,” he says grabbing the front of his hoodie and tugging on it once. “Get that off.” 

Hank takes a step back and motions for Barry to stand up too. After a second of hesitation, he takes the hoodie off over his head and dumps it unceremoniously on the floor. 

Hank takes yet another step back, looking at him up and down, then also tugs on his t-shirt until Barry takes one step closer. 

“Get this off too.” 

He says, and immediately circles around Barry as he’s removing the t-shirt and tossing it in the exact same spot as the hoodie. He stares straight ahead. 

As soon as the t-shirt’s off Hank traces the raised scar on Barry’s upper back, his fingers caressing it lightly. A shiver follows the same path and then goes down Barry’s spine. 

Hank keeps lightly touching Barry’s skin with the excuse of checking for wounds. 

(You’d think they’d both be beyond this kind of subterfuge at this point, but it’s how it works for them.) 

Satisfied with his inspection of Barry’s back, Hank circles around back to his front and repeats the same wandering, starting at his clavicle and working downwards. 

His hands grip the hem of Barry’s trousers, which makes Barry tense up. However, Hank seems to think better of it, and releases it and smiles up at Barry. 

“Unscathed,” he says, with a weird pronunciation, like he’s only read the word but never heard it. “That’s good.” 

Barry’s in silence for a second before blurting out: 

“I took the knife.” 

Hank’s eyes open in surprise. 

“You what?” 

“I got the knife from him and brought it. To be… Safe.” 

He doesn’t fool Hank with that vague explanation. The Chechen is smiling, equal parts bemused and sly. 

“You took a trophy,” he says. 

“No, I…” Barry tries to protest. 

“It’s nice, huh? Gives it more drama.” 

Barry looks away again. 

“I don’t know about that.” 

“You have it still?” 

“Yeah, it’s…” Barry starts to motion to take it out of the right pocket of his trousers, but Hank bats his hand away and puts his own hand into the pocket, making Barry tense up again. 

Hank rummages around deeper and way longer than he needs to, smirking up at Barry when he notices what has been going on between them for a while has not gone unnoticed by Barry’s dick. He’s not quite at half-mast, but he’ll soon be, if Hank keeps that up. 

He doesn’t, opting to finally fish out the knife instead. 

He opens it and gets it closer to his face, seeing the drying blood on the blade. He brandishes it in front of Barry’s face. 

“So he didn’t get you at all with this?” 

“I thought you checked a minute ago,” Barry has the cheek to reply. He’s following the knife’s movements with his eyes. 

Hank stops the waving and lowers it down to Barry’s chest. It’s a hair’s breadth from his skin when Barry grabs his wrist with his hand. It’s not a tight grip, but the intent is unmistakable, and his eyes as they stare down Hank speak danger. 

Hank only smiles at that and waits until Barry releases him to lower the knife. 

They stare at each other in silence. 

Then Hank steps sideways, away from him. 

“I think you should take a shower.” 

Barry blinks, caught off-guard. 

“What?” 

“You know,” Hank motions at his face and the blood streak. “Clean up.” 

Hank turns around and walks to the small kitchen, taking off the jacket and putting it on the back of a chair. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he approaches the sink and opens the faucet, running the knife under it, completely ignoring Barry, who looks like a giant, shirtless lost puppy all of a sudden. 

“Okay,” he mutters to the air, then heads inside the bathroom, closing the door with a not-hour-appropriate slam. 

Hank closes the faucet, leaves the knife in the sink and looks up at the kitchen clock, and counts down 5 minutes. 

When they’ve passed, he also heads into the bathroom. 

“Fuck,” Barry says. 

There’s no curtain on the shower, so he’s trying to cover his now very apparent erection with his hands, while turning against the opposite wall. The shower is on and the water now splashes against his back. He looks over his shoulder at Hank, in mixed anger and arousal. 

Hank, on his part, calmly crosses his arms and leans against the door frame. 

“Go ahead,” he says. 

It takes Barry a second to parse what he means. 

“Y-you’re…” he sputters, turning back towards him much to his own chagrin. 

Hank raises his eyebrows, gaze laser-focused on Barry, urging him on. 

Barry can’t believe he’s doing this when he braces one hand against the wall behind him and the other goes back to stroking himself. He’s looking down, eyes almost closed, and he’s thinking that as long as he can do that- 

“Look at me.” 

_Fuck._

Barry raises his gaze very slowly. 

He tries to hold Hank’s gaze but the moment they lock eyes Barry can see how Hank’s looking at him, like he’s a masterpiece, like he’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. Barry’s ashamed of how quickly that look makes him unravel. 

His head falls back down as he reaches his climax, shivering on his release, and he stays there catching his breath before straightening up. 

Hank approaches him, putting a hand up to the middle of his chest, and Barry now puts both of his hands flat against the wall, like he’ll fall if he doesn’t hang onto something. 

Hank leans against him and says 

“You did very good today.” 

Then steps away and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

Barry stands there, under the still running water, cooling off in more ways than one. After a while he turns it off and steps out of the shower, rummaging through his discarded clothes and putting his underwear back on. A small part of his brain wonders why he bothers keeping up an appearance of decorum after what had just happened. 

He comes out of the bathroom to find Hank has also stripped down to his underwear (keeping his shirt on, though) and is now back to lounging on the bed, just on the other side this time. He has his Mac Book on his lap and is staring intently at the screen, hands hovering over the keyboard. 

Hank turns his head towards Barry, who has stopped dead in his tracks on the door frame, and he smiles in a way so fond that it makes Barry _incredibly_ uncomfortable. 

(He also feels some sort of warmth in his stomach he tries not to pay attention to.) 

Hank pats the other side of the bed and Barry finds himself climbing on it without a second thought. He lies down, head on the pillow right next to Hank’s elbow, and as soon as he’s within reach Hank puts that arm around his shoulders, and his gaze goes back to the laptop screen. 

“I have to finish things, but you can sleep if you want,” Hank says, absentmindedly playing with the hair on the back of Barry’s neck. 

Barry’s eyes are already closed. He lets out a short hum in reply. 

He falls asleep very fast, Hank’s arm around him strangely comforting. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are endlessly appreciated!


End file.
